


The continuing adventures of Ichabod Throgmorton, vampire hunter extraordinaire

by CogOfAlderHollow



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I'm sure everyone is the best of friends, McCullum can only communicate by argument, Post game timeline, Reid likes to support everyone, Teasdale needs a stake, Throgmorton is smart he's just a bit lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CogOfAlderHollow/pseuds/CogOfAlderHollow
Summary: In which:Reid teaches Throgmorton a few tricks,McCullum and Reid have a silent catfight,Throgmorton goes on a hunt......and figures a few things out on his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because after I finished the game I decided I needed to do an evil playthrough and eat the docks... and it was going perfectly well and diabolical until Ichabod.  
> For some reason I felt the need to apologize to a fictional character, so I wrote him a nice story.
> 
> Also, Vampyr needs far more fanworks. I've never really done this before, but I guess I'll add one myself.

Ichabod Throgmorton, vampire hunter extraordinaire, paused in the cold glow of moonlight on the worn stone cobbles of the courtyard. One last time he skipped through a mental checklist before advancing upon his opponent who was not-so-helpfully lingering in the shadows cast by the warehouse wall. _Sword arm, advanced, pointed forward. Stake, held ready. Don't cross your feet when you move. Watch his whole body, not just his weapon._ Inching forward, _too slow. Confidence, Ichabod, confidence._ Gliding forward on balanced feet, Throgmorton closed the distance between himself and his opponent. _Is that a trace of amusement? Well, I suppose he's earned it._

 

Reaching the edge of shadow, he darted forward, weapon raised, and struck towards his opponent's chest and-  _CRACK_ \- was jarred midway by an impact that snapped through both elbow and teeth in an unsettling click. The shadowed figure had, once again, deftly turned his attack back upon him by simply intercepting a forceful swing.  _Haven't learned that lesson yet, now have I?_ Throgmorton quietly thought to himself as he not-so-gracefully dodged back, as the figure advanced upon him and removed any room to breath.

 

_CRACK... CRACK CRACK_

Impact jarred up his arm again as he reflexively, and somewhat erratically, fended off his attacker. He quickly was pushed back to where he began in the courtyard, moonlight illuminating the serious and infuriatingly calm Jonathan Reid. Both men held wooden bludgeons in their right hands, like crude interpretations of short swords. Although Ichabod had already spent a good deal of time, _privately, where no one can watch me smack into my own feet_ , trying to learn the ways of sword and combat, Reid was proving to be quite an adept and therefore challenging opponent. _I might even say he makes it look effortless._ Where Throgmorton was fighting with a more reactive edge, barely keeping in balance as he deflected each attack, Reid was perfectly composed between each decisive movement, as if he somehow had extra time between each strike in which to reason out the best angle and strength of swing.

 

Suddenly there came a pause to the onslaught, where Throgmorton bought himself a moment by deflecting Reid's swing in just such a manner that he could take advantage of - _an opening, or a feint, doctor?-_ and followed through with a hopeful and quick strike towards a shoulder.... to miss as the man sidestepped at the _precisely_ right moment, and skip against wool, scuffing the front fabric of his coat but leaving Reid himself unharmed. _Feint it was, then._ Throgmorton had just enough time for a mental wince before Reid's own weapon had swung around in the interim, and cracked painfully into his wrist, springing his hand open and dropping the bludgeon from his grip. It was all he could do to retreat backward and avoid another strike, trying to create more distance and devise a new tactic.

 

“...left hand?” Supplied Reid helpfully, and now more than just a trace amused judging by his tone.

 

Throgmorton resisted glancing down and instead switched his stance to put his left side forward, and therefore stake poised ready to strike. He took a breath to steady himself, then sprang forward, knowing there was no point in further delay. Reid deflected the stake as gracefully as he had been with the bludgeon, and followed by shoving him just outside of his own reach, yet still within reach of the tall doctor. Fending off attacks with just a stake was considerably more difficult, his hand taking more than one glancing nick. He was not able to keep up the defense for very long, and dodging back ended quickly with a misstep throwing him off balance. Springing forward, Reid ended the combat with swift finality, a slash across the stake sent it out of his hand and his arm wide, and with little balance it was simple to follow through with an elbow to the chest, taking the man off his feet completely. The world blinked briefly in dizziness, then suddenly came back in force as the ground and hard stone slammed their weight into Throgmorton's back. He let out a deep breath of air that may have been a groan as Reid paced around him.  _And the good doctor hasn't even broken a sweat._

 

What was most certainly a groan escaped him then as he very slowly rolled to put feet underneath him, and on hands and knees leveraged himself to a more vertical position. Even if the world was still tilted by the smallest fraction. Reid was busy collecting the items dropped, a very rough carved block of wood in the general shape of a machete, identical in character to his own, and a wooden stake, blunted at the end. He then set them aside near a pile of scrap wood, likely sitting untouched since before the epidemic, and likely to remain so for a long while yet.

 

“So then, Dr. Reid, any changes to your verdict?” Throgmorton managed to ask after a few moments of recovery to a rattled skull and bruised body.

 

“I'm now certain you've done this before, Mr. Throgmorton. Are you quite sure you've had no formal training?”

 

“Why, no, doctor. Just the normal amusements of children. You know how boys can be. Perhaps I've a future in dodging enemy claws... and hand-thrown projectiles, in any case. Causing a fatal blow still eludes me, however, and I'm afraid that might be a nagging flaw on my part.”

 

“There is a such thing as being too hard on yourself, you know. After all, you _were_ able to sneak up on one of those creatures, _and_ had the forethought to pause and assess the situation rather than blindly strike. I suppose I wouldn't be an expert on the subject, but those sound like fantastic vampire hunter qualities to me.”

 

“I'm afraid the guard of Priwen wouldn't agree with that assessment.”

 

“I thought you weren't joining the guard? I would think that would mean you needn't bother to try to emulate them in every regard. I had great respect for my mentor's transfusion technique, but that did not stop me from forging my own path in the field, and in the end, I believe my advances have been a great success.”

 

“Very true, Dr. Reid. I certainly have been forging my own path in a way. I just can't help but respect experts of the field, regardless that I may have slight disagreements on methodology. I would also like to think that I'm not too proud to understand where I still need improvement.”

 

For some reason Reid always seemed to bring the truth out of him. It was refreshing in a way, and being able to speak his worries and failings was allowing them to finally be addressed. Since meeting the doctor only a fraction of a year ago he had discovered a new sense of hope that he wasn't just mad and prone to hallucinations, that he might actually make a dent in the dark corners of London. Every time he spoke with the man he was left with a deep sense of peace. After all, Dr. Reid already knew about what he saw that one dark night, or what he thought he saw, and he didn't simply write him off as a fool, or worse, a charlatan. Wandering lonely streets at night, knowing if he was wrong he might just be roughed up by the local gangs, and if he was right... he might not survive the encounter a second time. It didn't matter. Bloodthirsty creatures danced around his thoughts and he needed the definitive answer that came only with confrontation. If a man of science and a organized militia could both believe in ghost tales, perhaps he was sane after all. And yet actual belief would make his regret worse, _knowing_ that he came face to face with a monster and did nothing. _How many poor souls have you killed since that night? Would I be able to trust myself to not make that same mistake twice?_ He could have acted and chose to stay his hand, and so could no longer allow himself to stand quietly in the city while such monsters crept through its shadows.

 

“I will say again, Mr. Throgmorton, you have plenty of talent. A good mind and a clear dedication to your task, and I see no reason you shouldn't succeed in your endeavors.”

 

“You certainly are a good judge of that, aren't you! I can't imagine all West End children grow up learning finance, decorum, and how to swing a sword about. Oddly incongruous with the medical profession in any case.”

 

“Primarily it's just being able to react quickly and appropriately to your opponent. I'm quite certain in a duel with a real swordsman I would not stand a chance.” A slight twitch of one corner of his mouth “In a fair fight, at least. Although I'm afraid I do have the war to credit for my initial investment with using a blade outside an operating theater. While I was trained with a pistol before I came anywhere near a battle... later, by chance, I picked up a machete and circumstance forced me to become proficient in surviving combat very quickly. Which is why I recommend practice _before_ it becomes absolutely necessary.”

 

“Indeed. A few more cuts and bruises and I may yet be a capable fighter. Thank you for your time, Dr. Reid.”

 

“Time well spend, my good friend. Speaking of which, I should probably ask if you happen to now need any medical attention?”

 

“Not tonight, fortunately. Some day soon, I'm sure.”

 

“Hunting?” Reid asked with what might have been a slight note of concern. Throgmorton was not a foolish man regardless of his reputation among Priwen, and he might be wary enough to not _intentionally_ go after skal, but that didn't mean he wouldn't just risk increasing his chances of an encounter. One he might be able to handle, judging by how well he was taking to actual combat. Reid didn't see him as any worse off than the average Priwen recruit.. But unfortunately skal had a nasty habit of congregating amidst meals, even after London had been largely cleared of the epidemic and its creations.

 

“No, not my nightly patrols, anyway. I was planning to take you up on your offer. A regular dose of bludgeoning sounds perfect for my health.”

 

“Doctor's orders.” Reid's expression was somehow warm, even though the man seemed to give off no heat in the chill air. “I'm off to Pembroke then ...I suppose we both should get some sleep before tomorrow.”

 

“I half believe you're completely nocturnal at this rate, doctor.” Throgmorton said in a soft tone.

 

“It has certainly felt that way since the disaster of this epidemic” A strange flicker of expression crossed Reid's face. Too quick to fully decipher. “Good night to you, Mr. Throgmorton.”

 

“Good night, Dr. Reid. Do take care to watch the shadows on your way.”

 

Throgmorton dusted himself off to shake loose the grit from the courtyard and turned to enter the warehouse behind where the two had been sparring. He stopped at a window to watch Reid leave, as he purposefully strode in the full moonlight confined to the narrow warehouse alleyways. As he entered the gloom and fog beyond the property's iron gate, he was gone.

 

 

 

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

***

 

 

A mist of rain drenched the cold air of London. This night in particular was feeling rather uncharitable with regard to personal health, or that might have been the brief but clearly inhuman shrieking that was heard just after a group of armed and armored men were seen heading underneath the far docks. Most people still out at the time had subsequently found their way inside some house or hovel. Throgmorton was not in the area when Priwen had passed through, and all the same they would not have welcomed him. But he _was_ in the area when Reid had finished his rounds early, since very few of the souls who needed regular attention were to be found on this night. They crossed paths outside a small grouping of dilapidated residences, the doctor just leaving the house of an exceptionally frail and elderly woman.

“Mr. Throgmorton! Good...” The railing on the story above then chose to drip something cold and not-wholly-water onto his shoulder, which promptly splattered against his face. Hat or no, London rain always found a way. “Well...”

“Dr. Reid, good evening to you as well.” Throgmorton replied with seemingly genuine enthusiasm. He barely seemed to notice the sky's moody assault. “I was hoping to run into you one of these nights.”

“Were you? How can I help?” He answered as the two began walking the desolate streets, as if to find some elusive reprieve from the fog.

“I had an anatomical question, although concerning vampires, I thought you may be able to help me reason out the answer.”

“A-” Reid blinked and was suddenly interrupted by a cough. Clearing his throat he continued. “Anatomy and physiology of vampires then?”

“Well, not the whole book, in any case. I was trying to figure out a better understanding of anatomy to reason out the truths and fictions of vampires.”

“Of course.... what was your question?”

“I was curious, you see- in all the research I've done there is a clear link to the staking-” Throgmorton emphasized the word with a demonstrative embellishment “- of a vampire's heart as part of the process of destroying it. But vampires are also clearly defined as non-living creatures. Not dead, but not living. So how is one particular body part so important as to have such an effect? There's nothing of note on staking livers or kidneys. Does a vampire's heart still beat?”

“I see no flaw to that reasoning. At least, if what you say is true, perhaps the heart does still play a vital role in... these creatures. I could not say for sure it is an unchanged role, but as far as I know, only the truly dead lack a heartbeat. Though... I'm not sure it's my expertise, but there may be another factor in play.”

“You're surprisingly a natural at discussing monsters, Dr. Reid. If you have any ideas I would be glad to hear of them.”

“It just comes to mind the fact it's always a _wooden_ stake. Maybe something to follow up on?”

“Indeed! A particular species of wood, blessed wood, green or seasoned wood... you do make things more complicated, don't you?”

“I apologize for that. Truthfully, I find your initial idea very interesting.”

“Were it true it would be fascinating...”

“How so?”

“Well, that would make vampires a great deal more human. The one I came across was quite... feral, perhaps. But what would it mean if stories such as Dracula were also an accurate depiction? Where one might see that something was clearly _odd_ about the man, but only a hunter would be able to identify him for a monster.”

“...That is certainly something to ponder.” Reid seemed very contemplative of the thought.

“No need to worry, Dr. Reid. Not everyone you meet is bound to be a creature of the night.”

His words were meant to be inspiring but perhaps were diminished by the cold and thick atmosphere of the night, fog rising from the nearby water to drench buildings and travelers alike in clinging trails of mist. As they turned westward to put the bridge in view, Throgmorton could distinctly feel the prickling sensation of being watched. Since the wet boot boys had a tendency towards strong-arm over ambush he knew it was something else. Glancing over at Reid, the doctor seemed... unconcerned but resigned? Well, if it came to a fight, clearly he could handle himself and likely it said something good about the man that he didn't want to jump straight into conflict.

It was that moment that their watcher appeared, the anthropomorphism of the oppressive gloom. An imposing figure, with an unmistakable radiance of anger and judgment, striding up to the two men as if they were unwanted intruders in an otherwise vengeful night. A grim faced man in battle worn gear, coated with a fresh scattering of dark and wet specks of.. _something,_ with a crossbow contraption strapped to one arm and hilt of a sword visible at his side. Throgmorton was understandably a bit taken aback. Reid however, looked unimpressed. Upon reaching them in the street, the man crossed his arms and stood glaring at each in turn, far too long for comfort in Throgmorton's honest opinion. The radiance of anger faded but judgment remained with force. This figure appearing out of the night itself left his mind racing with an untold number of questions he wasn't sure he dared asking. Then the man spoke.

“Reid. Throgmorton. Why are you skulking around the docks?”

“I feel you somehow keep forgetting that I am a doctor. What was the name of that young guard I stitched back together last week? Andrew?” His tone was polite but posture unnaturally still.

“A doctor has no business _skulking._ ” McCullum growled with an accusatory narrowing of the eyes.

Reid held back a sigh as he ignored the comment and instead politely diverted the subject “I had heard that Priwen was at the _far_ end of the docks tonight. Though I didn't realize you were returning to door-to-door solicitations. What brings you here in particular, McCullum?”

Questions suddenly were answered. While Throgmorton had never yet met the man behind Priwen, he had certainly heard enough. McCullum had a presence to match his reputation. He wondered if the guard regularly made use of the talented doctor for their surely frequent medical needs, although he wasn't sure why McCullum seemed so antagonistic towards the man.

“Had a leech run off this way. Whole nest to deal with tonight.” He might have grinned as he said this, but it was hard to decipher with the manner his teeth were bared. “Almost hard to track the bastards down nowdays. Almost never see one just wandering the streets.” Something strange glinted in his eyes. It could have been humor, but that seemed entirely misplaced. Unless Throgmorton was missing something.

“That's certainly a relief. I find my rounds less eventful as of late which is a most welcome change” Something went unsaid between the two men, at least in the way the posture of each seemed to relax at precisely the same time. He was definitely missing something.

“So why the _hunter_ then?”

“Dr. Reid was just helping me with research.” Throgmorton decided to sneak into the conversation before he became a complete bystander., regardless of the strange feeling that any sudden movements might cause a sword to suddenly appear at his throat.

“He was now?” McCullum smirked. “And how is that going?”

“I have been attempting to devise strategies to flush out the vampire wherever he hides: sewers, abandoned buildings, or, most diabolically, hidden among ordinary people.”

McCullum's face briefly blanked and he looked almost... a surprised form of confused. Which was a bit odd, since he would certainly already know all of that. Unless he _really_ thought Throgmorton wasn't a... _potentially_ capable hunter. Well, he'd just need to prove the man wrong then.

“But no such creature would be able to disguise himself completely, so clearly there would be certain clues to identify him as a monster.”

“Figured them out yet?”

“Well, in some way I believe it would be an instinctive feeling to an experienced hunter. I suppose someone such as yourself can immediately spot a vampire.”

“I can.” He answered as Reid shifted his hat against the rain. So far, McCullum was being far more accommodating than Throgmorton had suspected he would, so he may as well take advantage of it. He would remember to apologize later to the doctor for making him stay so long in the weather.

“You have quite the reputation. Would you care to comment on what you, in particular, look for?”

“What I look for? A leech. Holed up in stuffy, moth eaten manors or sniffing around the sick and vulnerable, pretending to be altruistic. The way they forget to breath or move is a dead giveaway. Feign industriousness to cover for dark eyes and sickly pallor. Like someone worked half to death but then never seems troubled by pains nor cold. Always goes about business at night, of course. You get the knack for seeing them and then it's easy. Haven't you ever found one pretending to be human before, _hunter_?”

“Oh, not quite that believable an impostor I'm afraid. The docks seem to attract a more vicious variety.”

McCullum laughed “I can agree with you on that!” Reid frowned and glanced away from the man. Likely checking the nearby shadows just to be safe.

“May I ask where you find your varieties of vampire then?”

“Easy. Either they're mad beasts running around dank holes and dead buildings, or they're arrogant slimy things that think they can fit in at places like West End.”

“Quite like Dracula, then. Perhaps-”

“That sounds like an oversimplification. Surely no one can classify creatures that otherwise should be diverse into two very disparate categories.” Reid interrupted.

“One or the other. Mad beast. Arrogant bastard. No in between.” McCullum's tone brooked no argument, and his expression was almost mocking.

“...I'm certain there could be more than that. If all vampires were once human, surely there exists the same variety of personalities? They cannot all just be duplicates of one another.”

“No. Beasts act like beasts. Just want to kill and splatter blood over everything. Those devious ones that think, well, all that goes on in their skulls is where the next meal comes from.”

Reid looked almost personally insulted at the simplistic view. “Regarding the reputation of Priwen, are you sure you would know? I didn't realize the guard sat down and spoke with vampires on a regular basis to the point of gauging one's personality.”

There was a slight edge of bitterness creeping into the banter between the two men. Throgmorton decided to interrupt again and try to diffuse the bickering before it grew worse.“The nature of hunting, Dr. Reid. It would be quite difficult to have a conversation with one's mortal... or immortal, enemy.”

“You can't expect me to sit down and talk with something that wants to rip my neck open, can you, Reid?”

“I am to understand every one of these creatures attacks you on sight then? You've never run into one that wishes to speak?”

“Every now and then I suppose... I'll get one that wants to go on about how it's doing some unasked for favor to king or country, so I should just mind my own business and ignore the trail of corpses it leaves behind as it carves its self-important way through London. I'd believe they all grew up in affluent neighborhoods the way they think they're entitled to the city. Everything they did as a human was praised, so clearly they know best how to solve problems they have no business in.”

“Vampires with good intentions! I hope you'll say more on the subject.” Throgmorton looked excited about the idea.

"I suppose if one was truly attempting to help the country, even if one is a monster, one would avoid doing harm in the process...” Reid began. He regularly walked through streets full of gangs and swindlers to hand out medicine, so perhaps he was more able to see the potential good in everyone.

“See? That's where the arrogance comes in for all these patriotic leeches. Always do more harm than good.”

“...which implies a monster _can_ do good, however. If one were to overcome arrogance, than surely a different sort of creature could emerge. Not necessarily so evil.”

“Won't happen.”

“I think Dr. Reid makes a good argument.”

“You'd almost think Reid's seen more leech's than me, to say that. Where do your rounds take you at night, _doctor?_ Broadening your practice to more than humans, now?”

“I understand you have a great deal of experience, my fellow hunter, but since that experience in general is of the violent type, wouldn't Dr. Reid have had just as much opportunity for conversation with vampires as you, yourself, have had?” While Throgmorton would normally lean towards trusting Priwen's opinion on matters of vampires, he agreed that when they went hunting, they didn't stop to ask their target questions. Reid was an intelligent man, and an outside source of thought might be just what Throgmorton's own version of hunting needed.

“Thank you, Mr. Throgmorton. It's never wise to deal in absolutes. As medicine teaches, there are always exceptions, and sometimes what you think has been working proves to be completely wrong.”

McCullum traded his mildly argumentative tone for something far more serious “Not in the end, Reid. A leech can live hundreds of years, and you think one could stay helpful, honest, and blood-starved in all that time?”

“I can't see why it wouldn't be possible.”

“It's not. But you can go on thinking that if you want. Thankfully, Priwen's been rebuilt into the modern age. Old, hungry leeches will always be dealt with before bleeding London dry.”

“As I'm sure one would deserve, if one were to become so monstrous.”

“They may have been human once, but they all end up forgetting. Even if some cling to the idea longer than others.” McCullum's tone changed again, far more somber. Almost as if he was regretting the idea, which didn't match at all with his otherwise unwavering hatred. Both him and Reid fell into an uneasy silence, blending into the cold drench of rain and dark, glossy streets.

“How depressing to think of! It makes you wonder how much becoming a vampire changes a man. Both of you have given me so many more questions to ponder.”

McCullum frowned as he focused on Throgmorton, as if daring him to intrude any more cheerfulness into his presence. His attention was diverted, however, as voices gradually rose from a street over, a somewhat rowdy group of men in good spirits, judging by what could be heard. Torchlight flickered briefly over to the three men where it glinted off glass and metal.

“...Looks like no leeches escape the guard tonight. I think I've seen enough of you two for one night, and I've work to get back to. Be sure I don't run into you again.” He gifted them with another glare thick with accusation before walking past the two in the direction of the voices, and towards wherever his night was taking him.

“Good hunting then!” Throgmorton called cheerfully to the man's back, but received no response. The leader of the guard of Priwen faded into the gloom as he had come, but the absence of his presence was nearly tangible. “Well. He certainly lives up to his reputation.”

“Geoffrey McCullum lives and breathes for Priwen.” Reid's face had returned to a neutral expression, but overall seemed less tense in posture and unaffected by the chilly atmosphere. “Although I suppose that's for the best. London had quite enough to deal with during the war and Spanish flu. While I can't say I regret his recent reduction in the number of plain thugs he recruits, they were necessary at the time.”

“The city is safer in comparison, but there will always be a place for people like him and myself to chase after those skulking creatures of the night.”

Reid had withdrawn into a state of introspection, but with hostile sky unrelenting, any further questions would need to wait for a later time. It had been an interesting diversion for Throgmorton, but he needed to make his way back towards the night shelter just as Reid needed to head towards the bridge.

The two bid each other farewell, and headed homeward before the coming dawn.

 

 

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Ichabod, this scene is a bit darker. It's because Reid isn't here. London can't manage to keep itself together without him around.

***

 

 

He followed the sound of rats. He found many bodies that way. True, they were also drawn to just about any other food source, but it was almost as if they had a particular squeak for _fresh meat, out in the open_ , which around the docks generally meant a corpse. So Throgmorton followed the noise to a suspiciously shaded alcove and found a middle aged woman, dark hair, rough callused hands, old but well tended clothes apart from the obviously fresh stains. Fairly ordinary for a local, except that her throat had been viciously clawed apart, likely related to the deep gauges into the wood on the wall behind her. Truthfully, most bodies he found had nothing to do with vampires, but it was almost a welcome change that a monster, this time, was likely responsible. _An actual hunt as well._

Most definitively in this case, was a clear lack of blood. Throgmorton also had enough experience to know _exactly_ what a body _not_ drained of blood would look like with a lacerated throat. He had, after all, been living around the docks for a while. After shooing the rats away, luckily very few and very recent in scavenging, he bent down to examine the woman. No heavy clothing, no coat, and nothing to suggest she had traveled far. Which didn't mean she hadn't just been carried a long way from home, but it was a start. The alcove was directly below a set of windows of a worn tenement building, rough but clearly full of residents.

For a moment he was still, to filter out the sound of the water and better listen to the sounds of the night. A dog barking a warning nearby, crinkling of paper being gently tattered by wind, a very faint echo of engine hum in the distance. Whatever had happened, it had happened hours ago. A dark corner wasn't a strange place for a vampire to dump a corpse, but something seemed off about the clear line of sight to the windows above. Something to ask about. He regretted that there was nothing he could cover the body with, but he decided to at least do her the decency of moving her body away from the rats. _Another someone who didn't deserve to die so cruelly, I suppose. Jack really was killed by monsters, wasn't he?_ When the woman was arranged with at least some semblance to peaceful sleep rather than violent murder, he tried to cover the worst of her neck with a scrap of cloth since he would need to see if anyone nearby either knew her or what might have happened.

Unfortunately, it was rather late in the night. Or early in the morning, depending on one's perspective. He hoped no one would be too irritated at being woken up at this hour, but the woman's death was recent and he needed to be pointed in the right direction before sunrise. There were plenty of doors around the other side of the building to choose from, so he just started with the nearest and knocked loud enough to carry through the thin walls.

“Pardon me, is anyone home? I know the hour is late but I'm afraid I'm investigating a murder and need to speak with someone.” The wooden door might have muffled his voice, so he knocked again just to be sure. No response came from the room in front of him, but he could hear a clattering lock coming from the second story. He backed away into the street to get a better view, noticing curtains on several nearby windows recently swung open. Before he had the chance to gauge just how thin the walls really were to carry sound so far, the door above him swung open and a woman stumbled barefoot on the rough deck over to the railing. Clearly having just woken up, all she had managed was a coat thrown over her shoulders and hat on her head as if to attempt control over the disarray of her hair. He could hear someone else moving around in the room behind her, but the woman simply turned and gestured away whoever it was.

“Sir? It's not something that can wait 'till morning is it?” The woman spoke with a surprising politeness for how worn she appeared.

“No, it really must be seen to immediately. I am terribly sorry to have woken you.”

“Not a problem sir. I heard you mention a murder sir, but I'm not sure I can be much of a help if it's gang troubles again.”

“Nothing gang related, I can assure you. I'm afraid the details are quite unsettling. A woman was murdered, I just found her at the back of this building. I need to find someone who would be up to the task of identifying her, as she likely lived in this area.”

“It's quite bad then?”

“I suppose all death is bad, miss.”

The woman sighed. “If it's someone I know I'd rather know firsthand without all the gossip then. I'll go with you, just a moment.” She briefly returned into her home, and after a muffled exchange of words with another occupant, stepped back out into the night with her coat fully fastened and shoes thrown on. Throgmorton met her at the bottom of the staircase. While there were circles of sleeplessness under her eyes, she was fully alert, as if she was well familiar with being woken in the middle of the night.

“Thank you for your assistance, miss-?”

“Mrs. Gabor”

“Ichabod Throgmorton.” He said with a flourish. “I should warn you the woman in question received a severe injury to the neck, but there isn't a great deal of blood. It was likely the work of a vampire. I'm a hunter of those sorts of monsters. Since it was a very recent attack it would be best if I could find any clues before dawn.”

“Vampire?” Her eyes widened and darted to the dark shadows lingering in the corners of the street. “I don't want to run across anything like that.”

“Don't worry, Mrs. Gabor. I already made sure it was gone, but I would certainly defend you if it were to reappear.”

“Thank you, Mr. Throgmorton.” Her smile was sincere, but a bit strained. The way around the building was quick, turning the corner and putting them both in full view of the mystery woman. Thankfully the rats hadn't returned. “That's Mrs. Murphy!” She gasped with her hands covering her mouth. “I spoke with her just today!”

“Then I'm very sorry you had to see her like this. I hoped to also bring her somewhere out the weather until she could be taken to a morgue.”

“She... Well, she lives alone since her husband died. Poor Mrs. Murphy, she's such a kind woman. I'm sure you're right Mr. Throgmorton, only a monster could do this to her.” Mrs. Gabor rubbed her arms nervously and appeared upset by the scene, but kept herself composed. “I'll let my husband know, she shouldn't be out here like this.” Throgmorton made sure to walk her back around the building, but her feet were steady enough given the situation. By this time a few other residents had doors cracked or were loitering outside to find out what was going on at this hour.

One older man had limped out of his door and called out to the two. “Bad hour to be awake. Bad news also?” He rasped.

“Something killed Mrs. Murphy, Ed. Neck torn up and left out back. Not right to happen to her.” Mrs. Gabor slowly shook her head and left Throgmorton to fetch her husband from their home.

“Ed is it? I'm investigating this incident to find whatever did this to the woman. I've already been told she was alive and well earlier today.”

“Ed Wilson's my name. I see Mrs. Murphy near everyday. Saw her just this morning.”

“Do you know if it was a usual sort of day for her, Mr. Wilson? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“She wasn't any sort of odd, left for the laundry as she does most days. She comes back later with shopping. Good woman, helps out a few of the people around here who can't get to the market everyday, including myself occasionally. What sort of man would cause a woman like that harm?”

“No man, I'm afraid, but a monster. I believe it was a vampire that murdered her.”

“War, disease, now vampires? I'm not sure if I can believe any of that. I've seen men do horrible things before, I'm not sure it takes a fairy tale to kill a woman. But whatever did it, I'll help if I can.” Wilson nodded in affirmation to his words. By this time the two Gabors had made their way down to the conversation. Mr. Gabor nodded to Throgmorton and gave a simple heavily accented greeting, carrying an old bed sheet.

“My husband was going to carry her back to her home, would you mind helping him sir?”

“Of course.” Throgmorton excused himself from Wilson and went with Gabor back to where the woman had died. The man slowly let out a breath when he saw Mrs. Murphy, hissed something in a foreign language that he most certainly wouldn't have said in the presence of his wife, and unrolled the sheet. The two worked quickly, the man didn't seem to want conversation and Throgmorton always felt uneasy handling dead bodies. A slight red stain had already leaked through the sheet at her neck but Gabor lifted her regardless, and with Throgmorton taking her feet slowly made their way across the street and a few doors down to the front of another tenement.

Finding a particular door, the two and their cargo entered. _Left unlocked._ This room inside appeared undisturbed, nothing looked missing or misplaced among the faded and careworn remnants of Mrs. Murphy's life. They set her down on the floor to wait for someone to take care of her properly. Gabor granted him a moment to look around for anything that caught his eye as suspicious, but the woman had apparently lived in a very simple and unobtrusive way. Nothing that would warrant an attack by a vampire. _Just a case of being in the wrong place and time?_ Considering the possibility that he would have no leads tonight, Throgmorton met up with Mrs. Gabor again by the stairs to her room.

“I'm afraid she appears to be an indiscriminate victim in all this.”

“This is terrible. Mrs. Murphy was a good woman.”

“One thing I did notice was her door was unlocked. Did she normally do so, or go anywhere late at night?”

“Not usually at night, no. I suppose occasionally she would run over to someone's house to drop off food or supplies she had picked up for them... You found her at the back of Miss Morris's room, she's been stopping by since the girl moved in.”

“What sort of person is Miss Morris, if you don't mind?”

“She hasn't been here long. Very quiet, and always has a sad look about her. I don't believe she goes out very often.”

“Do you think she'd mind me asking her a few questions?”

“Not at all if it were about Mrs. Murphy. I'm sure she'd like to help.”

Throgmorton went upstairs to the door Gabor pointed out, and attempted knocking. It resulted in no answer, and no noise coming from inside. There was a strangely suspicious feeling about the place, however, so he tried the knob.  _Unlocked. Again. And I doubt many people intentionally leave their doors open around here._

The room he entered was incredibly sparse of furnishing, hardly more than an armchair and old table that were worn with age and years of use. He paused by the table, rough wood that had regular sets of scratches as if once frequently used as a work bench. For some reason he lingered there and a nagging feeling caused him to run his hand over it, the too-sharp edges of the cuts standing out in particular.  _Recent? And eerily repetitive..._ The bedroom was no different, though a lightly stained dress was neatly folded on a chest, the whole place looked tidy but far too empty. Moonlight cast light through the bedroom's window, drawing his attention. When he made his way over, he could clearly see the ground below. Directly below, where Mrs. Murphy's corpse had lain, where the eye would be immediately drawn to it.  _Something very unsettling is going on._ There were still questions to be answered, but his priority now was finding Miss Morris before anything would befall her as well. He went outside to meet with Gabor again.

“Did Lacey speak with you?” She asked hesitantly, noticing his expression had fallen.

“No, Miss Morris was not in, but I'm concerned. Her door was left open.”

Gabor paled. “That's not right at all.”

“Did she live alone as well?” He received a nod. “Then do you know where she might have gone or where her family lives?”

“There's no where she could go at night, but I know she has family in Whitechapel.”

Throgmorton got an approximate address from her and thanked her for her help. He wouldn't be able to reach the area before dawn, however, and that left him very disturbed. One woman dead, one missing, and one potential vampire that didn't mind leaving an obvious kill out in the open. He had an investigation to conduct.

 

 

***

 

 

Still in the early morning light, Ichabod Throgmorton reached the address he sought. An unassuming house in Whitechapel, but well kept and silent as the grave. This time he tried the doorknob first. _Locked_. Knocking on the door brought out a solemn young girl in a dark dress.

“Do you need something, sir?” She asked quietly, staring at him with the particular death glare known only to inquisitive children.

“Ichabod Throgmorton. I'm looking for someone who you might know of... A Lacey Morris?”

The girl's eyes grew wide “Lacey left. She's my sister, but she didn't want to be here anymore. Not since mother and Willie died.”

_And she hadn't been at the docks long. More recent deaths, then? It's very unsettling where this might be going...best not draw conclusions just yet._ “She hasn't been back then?”

“No. Not even to visit.”

“Is your father in?”

“Yes. I'll get him.” The girl said and quickly shut the door. He could briefly hear her footsteps running up stairs. Within a few minutes the father had appeared at the door, shooing the girl away before she could join in the conversation again. He had a very drawn look on his face.

“You're asking about Lacey?”

“I am. I'm sorry if I'm blunt, Mr. Morris. Your daughter was missing last night from her room at the docks.”

The man sighed heavily. “That'd be the second time she's moved then. She'd been... anxious with all that's happened to the family. She doesn't have the health to travel, but she slipped out one night and won't tell me where she's gone.”

“I'm sure she has reason to be feeling distraught, but in the case of last night... there was a body of another woman found just outside her rooms.”

“Well that's... well...” Morris trailed off with a rapidly growing concern. He took a moment to step outside into the pale morning light and close the door behind him. “What happened?”

“The woman was attacked, and killed. I believe by a creature of vampiric nature. I'm very sorry to pry into your personal affairs, but may I ask if any sort of violence befell your late relations?”

Morris's concern flickered into confusion and slight irritation. “Sir, if you've come to mock my family in any way-”

“No! Not in the least!” He hurriedly interrupted man. “I can assure you my investigation is genuine. I am aware many people are hesitant to believe such dark creatures could lurk around in such a civilized time, but once you've seen and fought with the beasts it's not something that can be ignored.”

A haggard and defeated look came over Morris as he let out a breath. “It's just Lacey... She's a bit fanciful a girl. Always reading books and daydreaming. My wife and I left her alone for the most part because of her health. Then we lost William, our youngest. Lacey seemed to put a lot of blame on herself.”

“Was there a reason for her to think she was at fault?”

“No, Willie just became sick. Not the epidemic. Nurse couldn't figure it out though, and he just grew weaker and weaker. With Lacey always at home, she was the one always by his side trying to care for him. Then she started to get strange ideas from her books, as if her frailness was catching.”

“You lost your wife soon after?”

“Very soon.” His eyes unfocused as he dredged up painful imagery “She was under much stress with having lost Willie. We lost another boy years before. Then... well it was just a simple accident. Fell into a window pane, cut herself badly. Lacey was even more distraught after that, convinced she had started walking in her sleep and upset her mother somehow. She was in her room the whole time though, I don't know why she thinks she'd have time to get across the hall. And then she tried to convince me she was cursed, and when I argued with her she left.” He refocused on Throgmorton. “No, I can't say I believe in your vampires. Or curses, or fortune telling, or any of the things in Lacey's books. If they were true, then it's my own stubbornness that ran her out of her home. That wouldn't be right.”

“Regardless of whatever truths we may believe, clearly the priority is finding your daughter. Do you happen to know why she went to the docks after leaving here?”

“I didn't know she did. One of her ideas she came up with was living in a house over the river, or over water, or something similar.”

“That does give me an idea on where to look, thank you for your candor, Mr. Morris.”

“Mr. Throgmorton?”

“Yes?”

“This investigation or whatever you're doing, please find Lacey. Even if I'm wrong and she's cursed somehow, tell her to come home.”

Throgmorton looked steadily at the man, suddenly feeling the full weight of a young woman's life potentially hinging on whether or not he could follow through to the end. The idea he might run into a _monster_ again. The responsibility wasn't as proud or honorable as he thought it should be, instead, it was uneasy and cold. Claws gripping into the back of his neck. This was leading into a dark place, he could feel, but refused to jump to any conclusions. Lives could end based on his decisions and competence. He nodded to Morris in affirmation and started back towards the docks.

 

 

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done writing this? Well, I'll never be done editing and rewriting things, but it needs to be posted someday or it never will be. Also, my spellcheck is convinced Ichabod Throgmorton should be changed to Diabolic Northampton. I'm not sure what to think of that.

***

 

 

One building met all the criteria. Built over water, well enough known that even someone new to the area could find it, front door always open to take a seat or rent a room without delay, and welcome to all the waifs and strays of the night. Tom Watts kept his establishment running into the early hours even when influenza started to burn itself out, since it had become a beacon of sorts for sanity in the darkness. Also, it didn't hurt that it had been involved in a vampiric incident in the past. And so Ichabod Throgmorton found himself surrounded by the unmistakable scent of alcohol, oiled wood, and unfortunate bodily spills. Watts himself was not on shift at this early hour, being more of a night owl, and the pub was hardly active before noon.

“Need a drink at this hour?” The barkeeper asked with a raised eyebrow. A short man with thick arms, not all from muscle, whom the hunter didn't recognize. He didn't make a move to grab a glass, however, so apparently thought Throgmorton didn't look the type.

“No, I was wondering if you could tell me if you've seen a young woman by the name of Miss Morris? I thought she was going to be renting a room here.”

“No sir, rooms are vacant for now, you sure she was coming here?”

“I'm quite certain, although she might be arriving tonight. I may check in again later on.”

“Be sure to stay for a drink.” The man added with a chuckle as he made his leave.

He was still certain of it. Although he wasn't sure where Lacey was right now, and that nagged on him rather steadily. Images of underground tunnels and abandoned warehouses came to mind, but unless she had become mad... _Well._.. it counted as a possibility, but her neighbors hadn't spoken unkindly of her. He still wasn't entirely sure he didn't suffer from a bit of madness, although he had grown more confidant in his sanity since regularly speaking with a doctor. But where else was a young woman to find lodging on no notice? He recognized the draw to water from his own research, apparently she was trying to _avoid_ vampires. _So maybe I can bring her home to her father after all..._

He wasn't going to worry about all the other possibilities. Yet. Instead, since he was always welcome at the night shelter, it sounded perfectly reasonable to spend the afternoon attempting sleep. It wasn't too far a distance from the pub and the walk back at dusk would help clear his head for... whatever may come. He actually rented close by but for some reason he never seemed to find himself in his own rooms. Darkened, and musty, and altogether... lonely. It was much nicer at the shelter. A large airy building, perhaps a bit chill at times, but the company was good. He greeted a young man with splinted fingers on his way in, another soul who had become as much a permanent fixture as himself these days.

“Good morning Mr. Scott. How have you been?”

“Mr. Throgmorton, this morning's been fine. Don't expect much from the kitchen today, someone took all the knives again. But it's been quiet otherwise. Last night though, there was a woman asking around for you.”

“Really? What did she need?”

“Refused to say. She seemed a bit angry.”

“Angry?”

“Well, quite angry, actually. She asked for you by name. She was very persistent, kept asking questions. I had to say that I didn't know you and to try a place down the way before she would leave. You haven't done anything to make a lady mad, have you?”

The idea ruffled Throgmorton. “Certainly not! That sounds quite despicable.”

“I suppose you're looking for a cot then?”

“Yes. I'm actually in the middle of tracking down some nefarious creature, but it's not likely to make another move before nightfall.”

“I'm likely to think you're a vampire yourself with your habits.”

“How preposterous that would be! I know plenty of people who prefer the night for work. Mr. Scott, were you by chance headed to the Turtle today?”

“No, I think I'll avoid that area for a while. I know Tom keeps his place peaceable, but I'd rather not risk one of the boys seeing me for now.”

“Let me know if you change your mind then.” He accepted a blanket from Scott and claimed a corner of the room that wasn't drenched in light. It never seemed to make a difference though, and as usual he found himself alternating between staring at a wall and falling into fitful hallucinations of half-sleep. A small price to pay for being the protector of the East End, however.

Daylight shifted, drawing lines across the cracked floor at a snail's pace and keeping company with the calls of scavenging birds and chittering rats. Throgmorton's mind kept dredging up images of brutally scarred young women with red eyes and snarling teeth. He could hope for a better night, but thus far no alternative-but-reasonable explanation was surfacing. Everything was still pointing to vampires, and he wasn't sure what to think of that. Finally, as if a candle burnt itself into the wax, the light began to rapidly fade to dusk. The hunter rolled himself out of his makeshift nest of blankets, shaking them out and folding them away for the other strays just starting to wander in at the advancing hour. Judging the sky, it would not be a pleasant night. He dusted himself off and headed into the darkened streets.

He shed his exhaustion, the chill of the air and the increasing number of shady figures loitering in alleyways were both very good incentives to be awake and alert. While the day had held promise and good weather, the coming night quickly turned to cold rain. He regretted the lack of a hat as little spiking slivers of ice slipped down his collar, as if scolding him for any previous hopefulness about the night's coming events. He wasn't about to turn back at this point, however. The back of his neck was chilled by more than just the rain. _Why does it feel like I'm walking towards something dreadful? It's just the Turquoise Turtle..._ Yet the feeling remained. Thus far Throgmorton didn't have a firm grasp on intuitive feelings, since they so often seemed to come from no where in particular or defy logical sense. _But if monsters can exist perhaps my logic can use a reworking. I suppose I'll find out soon enough._

There wasn't much in the world he was absolutely certain of anymore. Logic may conclude that the series of dead bodies were the work of accident and murder, simple enough. But intuition told him otherwise, and he wanted to start trusting his intuition. He wanted proof, and he felt he just might find some on this night.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Night brought more patrons to the pub, and the familiar face of the stoically pleasant Tom Watts. The building still wasn't anything that could be called busy, but it had much more life and activity than it did during the height of the epidemic. Conversation and clinking glasses helped fill the room and make the atmosphere welcoming. Throgmorton strode over to the bar, feigning all the peace of mind he didn't have.

“Good evening, Mr. Watts.”

“Good evening to yourself, sir. What can I get you?”

“I'm actually looking for a young woman by the name of Miss Morris? I believe she was taking a room here.”

“There's a girl here by that name. She seemed very troubled, though.” Throgmorton almost flinched at the affirmation. Watts paused from cleaning off the counter to focus more directly on the hunter. Apparently he didn't see anything that concerned him, however, and continued, “Do you happen to know her?”

“Her father is hoping to find her. Their family has seen some misfortune recently, and he wishes to make sure she's in good health and safety.”

“Of course. She's just upstairs, first door on the left.”

The hunter was suddenly quite glad for the jacket he was wearing, and how it very conveniently covered the stake and otherwise suspicious gear he had on his person. For some reason which he didn't really understand, he wanted to avoid drawing attention to his current quest. He wound his way through the standing crowd, and ascended the staircase at the far side of the building. And suddenly, the door was in front of him. He knocked.

“Lacey Morris? My name is Ichabod Throgmorton. I was hoping to speak with you, and inform your father of your well-being.” A moment passed with no response. “Miss Morris?” He grabbed the doorknob, and sure enough, it too was unlocked. _It seems I'm chasing geese with all these detours. The poor girl must be terrified if she keeps fleeing from place to place._

Slowly opening the door revealed the room was dimly lit, the door to a balcony left open and cold breeze chilling the air. He entered with the full expectation of another scavenging hunt for clues on where he needed to head next. The unlocked door had given him the impression that the room would once again be vacant, and so he sighed as he strode in and looked to find the button for the lights. He froze in place then, when the slight turn of his head let him catch the very, _very_ unnatural reflective eyes of the slight figure sitting on the edge of the bed. The eyes bore into him, but the girl made no movement. Throgmorton slowly, carefully twisted around the close out the sounds of the pub downstairs and press the switch to illuminate the room.

Lacey Morris sat quietly, in so perfect a stillness that she might as well have been made from wax. There was a clear family resemblance to her sister, but also a resigned emptiness to her unnaturally bloodshot eyes. Her hands were folded in her lap, further wrinkling a dress discolored at the hem with mud and grime. Yet overall, she gave him a distinct impression of fear. His mind blanked for a moment to process this new information. There was a brief war between rationalization and the blaring warning instinct going off in his head. _But this is real. Dr. Reid believes me. Priwen is an entire organization of hunters. Mr. McCullum does this every night, doesn't he? So can I. Vampires do exist in London, and I've already run into one before._ And now he had just found another. Yet, he had also just found a scared young woman.

“Miss Morris, you appear quite distressed. Are you able to speak?” He began carefully, still tense but attempting to at least appear at ease. He suddenly wondered if vampires had instinctive predatory reactions to fear.

“The door was locked.” Morris sounded incredibly small and weak, as if her own shadow might frighten her. But her gaze held him steadily, in contrast to her demeanor.

Attempting to avoid another mental stutter, Throgmorton fiddled with the door handle again to make sure it wasn't broken. “I'm afraid the lock wasn't set, Miss.”

She frowned. “It was shut. You're not supposed to be able to come in.”

“I do apologize for intruding, but I don't believe that rule works both ways.”

Morris' oddly reflective eyes widened, and her posture grew withdrawn and defensive. “Why are you here?”

“I'm here-” He paused a moment, searching for the answer. Why was he running around London at night in such a reckless manner, warning people about fairy tales and pretending to be an intrepid and dashing hero? “A few people have been murdered. And a young woman went missing and needed to be found. I'd like to believe I can be of help in some way, to prevent yet more tragedy. Although I'll need more information to figure out how to try.”

Morris still made no threatening movement, regardless that his intuition still was screaming at him he was about to be eaten by a monster. Her eyes blinked and watered red, anxiety cracking on her face. Finally finding her, and how distressed the _young woman_ clearly was, caused him to ignore his internal alarm, but he _really_ needed to listen to it more often. That could happen later, since there were many instances of that warning signal that would need to be reconsidered, and he was slightly preoccupied with more pressing concerns at the moment.

“I don't want to be found! I want to be lost!”

“I imagine I can understand why you might be so troubled, but your family is looking for you. Your father is very concerned for your well-being. There have also been several deaths of persons closely associated with you. ...I need to know how they happened.”

Her response was almost to quiet to hear. “I killed them.” A look of defeat and exhaustion passed through her frame. If here was a deadly vampire sitting before him, for a experienced hunter the next course of action would be simple. Unfortunately, something felt very wrong with the atmosphere of the situation. He wasn't sure he believed her.

“Mrs. Murphy was killed in a rather cold fashion, are you really that sort of a person?”

“I killed her!” She seemed to be getting agitated again, and so he tried to diffuse the situation back to a level of calm.

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, he reasoned, “If you killed her, why was she left for you to find? There's certainly more going on than you've said. Please, let me help you.”

Morris' posture immediately changed to a catlike bristling, bloodshot eyes glinting open, and a pained snarl appeared on her face. His eyes were drawn directly to the fangs. Prominent, pointed, _extremely_ vampiric fangs. She sprung frighteningly fast into a standing position, just barely within the range of human speed. He certainly hadn't seen many individuals capable of moving so precisely, so quickly.

“No! Helping kills people, people die! Willie, mother, Nell, Mr. Bagely, Mrs. Rodefer, Mrs. Murphy, Mr. Bellamy...” She drew herself inward, covering her mouth with her hands. That was a longer list than Throgmorton was comfortable with. He suddenly wondered if his intuition was right, after all. “All dead because they were too close, too kind. I killed them. I killed them!”

He really wanted to understand. It didn't make sense how someone so sad and frightened could be capable of what she claimed. “And why did you kill them? Because you are a vampire?”

“Go away!” Morris then darted forward, swiftly enough that he could almost imagine tendrils of smoke blurring her frame. Throgmorton scrambled farther back ward, heart pounding near painfully in his chest.

“Your family misses you Lacey! Please, calm yourself!”

“No, I'll kill them! Don't make me kill them!” She moved again, this time shifting her weight forward in a very aggressive way. There was only a moment for him to notice the sudden malicious change in atmosphere before Morris sprang forward. A moment was enough for him to grab for his stake hidden under his coat but not enough to do anything further except trip ungracefully backward. Fortunately though, falling was faster than dodging, and Morris' claws only shredded into his coat. He only realized he was still retreating backward when his back struck a desk, which he promptly used to right himself again as he put the stake between himself and the vampire.

Morris had stopped however, and suddenly reverted back to the timid and frightened girl. He wasn't sure if he consciously chose not to move or simply was frozen in place, stake in front of him and not-quite-entirely using the desk to keep himself upright. Apparently though, she had less experience as a vampire than he had as a hunter, because she looked just as startled by the brief almost-violence as he felt.

“No one need kill anyone, Miss Morris.” He hoped the words were more convincing than the situation. Morris' was edging backwards, hands digging at her hair and whispering something like a chant under her breath. Her mood was shifting erratically but was then settling on panic, and in that moment she fled, the open balcony too tempting for her state of mind.

It took an unreasonable amount of willpower for Throgmorton to not just slide back down to sit on the floor again. Instead, he unsteadily leaned forward, trying to maintain some measure of control over his breathing. Perhaps he was still a terrible hunter. Perhaps he still wanted to help Morris even if it proved impossible. Considering he was still alive, the night was going quite well so far. He therefore decided to do the most unreasonable thing, and follow Morris. _Priwen would never let a vampire run off. Neither should I. Unintentionally, at least._ He was a vampire hunter after all, wasn't he?

His legs still weren't fully functional as he made his way over to the balcony, and his mind was racing and unkindly reminding him that he didn't actually have any idea what he was doing. In fact, his thoughts were so well distracting him that he almost didn't notice the sudden change in direction as he tripped onto the balcony, fall softened by the corpse laid out. This time a man, likely the latest in Morris' string of associated deaths. Alike to Mrs. Murphy, violence was very evident.

Throgmorton had put his hands out to break his fall, which meant those were now covered in slick and cooling blood. The man had likely been killed just after sundown, and there was no way of telling how close by the _second_ vampire was. _As everything may be pointing towards. A second, exceedingly dangerous, monster._ In the corpse, a gaping hole greeted him on the left side of the man's chest, cracked through flesh and ribs to show just exactly how dangerous. Regardless of a brave facade, he was aware of his current skill level in combat, and how lacking it would be against such a creature. Whatever its intentions were with the young woman, he'd just need to catch up to Morris first.

“Dreadfully sorry, Mr. Bellamy...” He apologized as he attempted to wipe away the blood. Directly below the balcony was the river, so he assumed Morris would have taken the only available route across the roof and towards the piers. There was no good way off the balcony, so he simply made do, clamoring over and stepping onto the slick shingles. A shipping barge was tied below with its load still stacked high, and as he was very likely to break his neck following the roof line, Throgmorton precariously edged himself over and dropped onto the nearest crate. He caught sight of Morris then, a small silhouette framed by industrial lights standing on the next pier over. _Across the water, no less. How did she manage that, unless vampires can cross water freely?_ Newfound questions pushed aside, the raging war of information in his mind that this quest had created, he found the gate to let himself out. Locked, of course, so climbing was again the only option, more crates giving just enough height to jump the fence and ruin any chance of salvaging his suit. The location in question was just around the next building, however, so he quickly sped off to catch up with Morris. He still hadn't figured out to what end.

The thought made him slow his pace, and almost reluctantly round the corner. Morris hadn't moved. She stood silently, watching the rain roughen the dark water, giving the impression of shivering even though she was quite still. The old wood of the pier muffled his footsteps, but they still could be clearly heard over the light rainfall and industrial hum of the London docks. He knew at least that Lacey Morris could hear him, by the feeling on the back of his neck and the far-too-icy atmosphere. The girl before him still looked like the same Lacey he had spoken with, but there was nothing similar about her presence. _But you were just a girl, how can you change so quickly to just a monster?_ He approached carefully, hoping that there was still some of Morris left.

“Miss Morris?” Her only response was a low growl. But she hadn't immediately move to attack. He found himself still hoping... until with moving his hands he noticed her reddened eyes were locked on the traces of blood left over from the balcony. She gave him the distinct impression of a cat, waiting for just the right moment for skittish prey to relax enough to pounce upon. He firmly stayed wary with stake in hand, pacing slightly to the side to try to grasp the layout of crates around him. This situation wasn't precisely alike to sparring sessions.

“I'm not quite certain you've murdered anyone, Miss Morris. Are you really capable of ripping out a man's heart? And remaining perfectly clean in the process? I think not.” Forced joviality returned no further response. _How can I bring you back, Lacey?_ The thought that she might be lost to hunger and madness was a terrible weight. A girl forced into a monstrosity for unknown purpose.

Throgmorton stopped pacing to study her, hunter not wishing to harm. Within that very moment, with his change in stance and intention so very clear to the young vampire, she pounced. Claws were nothing like a wood machete, but they also didn't snap against the stake to reverberate into his hand. Morris hissed at him as four deadly points scratched into wood, and immediately jumped back out of arms reach.

There would be no feigning or strategy to this fight, simply a vampire reacting on instinct against a never-tested hunter. She tried him again, darting forward with claws swiping dangerously close to his face, but it seemed instinct was a poor substitute for practice, and he was able to deflect again.

Her frustration was evident, at the prey that smelled of blood yet stood defensive. Morris wasn't particularly strong, but she was fast, and she tried her claws again at a different angle. Throgmorton apparently hadn't done a good enough job with maintaining awareness of his surroundings, he noted, as he cracked into the crate behind him, pinned in place by the deadly creature in front. Her claws sharpened his stake further, but before she was able to reach skin he kicked out, using the leverage of the heavy crate to put distance between the two of them. The vampire struck onto the wood decking, screaming anger at the stubborn meal. Something very loud and glass-filled crashed behind the hunter, as he came clear of the obstruction and solidly onto his feet again.

The rain slick wood was giving the hunter some trouble, but Morris began circling around him without such trepidation. While he knew he would never be able to rid his thoughts of vampires since he stumbled upon that dark side of London, Throgmorton wasn't sure he wanted to kill this creature in front of him. It was as if fate would continuously test him, asking him what it was that constituted a monster, and whether there was humanity still left of one. Perhaps it would be his own destiny to find out, whether he could decipher this on his own or make a fatal mistake as part of the process.

Morris no longer felt human. And yet, he still resisted directly attacking her. He knew that sentiment would not last long as he met another vicious snarl of claws with stake, and was forced closer to the water. The vampire darted again and he was forced to jump to the side, slipping and crashing into yet more shipped goods. As he moved to balance himself, Morris left him no moment's peace and closed the distance.

Throgmorton quickly scrambled himself over the crate to put it between them, a highly ineffective action since she simply jumped over it. As she landed with a predator's grace, he reflexively made a decision and cracked the steel covered back end of the stake against the side of her head. The vampire shrieked in anger, but not hurt. There was a scuff mark of blood on her forehead, but Morris showed no evidence of pain, only _fury_.

She snarled at him again and the edges of her form blurred in black mist, and suddenly her body crashed into Throgmorton, sending him violently backward, fracturing the wood of one of the shipping crates and scattering fragments of splintered wood and metal fabrications. Immediately his left arm lit up with nerves on fire. He dearly hoped it hadn't broken, but it wasn't responding well, and that was not looking good for this fight. Especially since Morris hadn't the decency to let up for a moment and he suddenly realized _his stake had gone flying as well_.

A moment of panic threatened to emerge as the vampire leapt at him again, but sparring experience took over. He dodged to the side, eyes picking up on the stake that lay in scattered debris just slightly closer to Morris than himself. He attempted to circle around and draw her away from it, but her crazed state lent her speed and he only accomplished cracking into more obstructions as he tried to keep enough distance between himself and deadly claws.

Maintaining such activity even for a short span was wearing on Throgmorton, and he felt himself slipping more and more on the rain-soaked pier. If anything, Morris was becoming more aggressive by the moment, and as he dodged backward into a crate he made the mistake of reaching out with his injured arm to balance himself. The thoroughly insulted limb gave out, shocking him with pain as he collapsed ungainly to the ground, the debris of metal and glass shredding into his skin.

Morris' bloodshot eyes locked with his for a moment, sensing vulnerable prey. She tensed as if to dart forward again, entirely monster, not at all girl, when a sudden THUNK of metal gear striking her skull and skewing her head off balance broke the contact. She barred her fangs in a snarl at what new creature was assaulting her. A woman stood some yards off, and rifled through a shattered crate for more projectiles. Another went sailing towards Morris, who leapt out of the way and turned to engage the woman. The vampire dove at the newcomer, who had barely enough time to grab one of the stray planks of crate wood as some form of defense. The woman had to immediately give ground but didn't hesitate on her own attacks, cracking Morris across the chest and staggering her a moment. It wasn't enough to bother Morris, however, and she quickly regained balance to slash at the woman again, aggressively seeking blood.

The intrusion of the woman had given Throgmorton a moment to reorient himself with gravity and shake some of the glass off, but she was not holding out very well against the enraged creature. He had told everyone that he was an experienced vampire hunter, creating a version of himself that would always be able to banish evil and save the innocent. A vampire was before him, but that creature was once just a girl by the name of Lacey. There was no lesser of two evils in this mess, neither woman deserved to die. But he chose to act; refusing to be a bystander in a mad world of monsters and darkness. _I know you intend to kill her, Miss Morris._

He snagged the stake from the ground and sprang to his feet, just before the woman's makeshift weapon snapped in her hands when struck again on Morris' shoulder. The vampire seemed incapable of focusing on two targets at once, rage and frenzy narrowing her senses onto whichever prey was closest. And so it was relatively simple to slip around her side as the impact of the plank jerked her body towards him. Unbearably simple, having been taught by a doctor, to find the exact spot that a stake would slip around flexible thoracic cartilage, as the stake he was now holding did so and drove into her chest.

The response was instantaneous. All the fury, all the insanity, just _stopped_ , as Morris convulsed and folded backwards to collapse on the rain slick planks beneath her. Throgmorton was fairly certain his heart momentarily stopped as well, or at least time stretched out to pinpoint clarity. The world was briefly silent as his vision narrowed to a mist of rain and dark water, but came crashing back in cacophony as the agitated woman shouted and threw down the remains of the plank.  


“Fucking vampires!”

“Are you alright, Miss?” Was all he could manage as he ignored the crushing weight of what he had just done. Somehow he had come to be seated on the rough wood again, and didn't quite have the energy to stand up. He pointedly focused his eyes on the woman nearby, and away from the unmoving body beside him. At first glance he thought what was a large laceration crossed the side of her face, but studying it revealed it to be a deep scar. The woman otherwise appeared unharmed if tense, in cleanly pressed clothes of a respectable style.

“I'm alright. Looks like this one won't be,” She gestured to the ground he was avoiding, “So you're a vampire hunter then? Looks like a useful job.”

“I would not presume to call hunting vampires a noble profession, but perhaps it's the only way to stave off the darkness.” Throgmorton's eyes flicked briefly to take in the other, now as corpse-like still as nature would intend. There was no sense of accomplishment, only defeat. “Lacey Morris was just a girl. Someone's daughter,” He paused as he realized what responsibility loomed before him, “And somehow I will need to inform her father of what transpired. Truthfully, I'm not certain I'm up to the task.”

“Well shit! That wasn't just a girl, did she go mad then? Guess I made the right choice.”

“...How so?” The woman was doing a good job of keeping his mind occupied on less unsettling things for the moment.

“I had trouble with a vampire once. That bastard deserved every bit of what he got in the end. Maybe this girl didn't, or maybe she would someday. All I know is she trying her best to take your head off. Mine too.”

“Are you a hunter as well?”

“No, but I think I'd like to be. You're Throgmorton, right? I'm Louise Teasdale. I was looking for you earlier, and someone told me you might be around the pub. I didn't expect to get right in on a fight, but I could hear it from the street over and it sounded something awful.”

“I'm not quite sure I was expecting a fight either.” A sense of easiness settled between them. She leaned over and grabbed his good hand to help pull him to his feet.

“Well you look like fucking hell. If you need a drink that pub's just around the corner.”

“No. No, I certainly don't feel up to alcohol right now, and I need to do something for Miss Morris. And-” he frowned “I believe someone will need to inform the pub's owner that a murdered individual is lying on one of his balconies.”

“I suppose I can, though I might also be of help with this Morris girl afterward. I know a little about vampires getting between family.”

“That would be undeniably appreciated, milady. I'm not certain Mr. Watts will be pleased to see me again after this. I will see what can be done for the mess here, but please inform the bartender that the man was not murdered _within_ his building. That might be very important to him.”

“Take your time, I might need a drink myself.” She turned from him and made her way off their pier.

As Teasdale headed towards the Turtle, Throgmorton slowly took account of himself. Scratches, lacerations, apparently bits of glass and wood still embedded in his arms and legs. He hadn't noticed how much damage he had taken, but he really must have looked as well off as her colorful description implied. His left arm was stiff but he could manage some movement of fingers, so perhaps it was not quite broken, but now that the threat of death had ended all the bruises and pains were beginning to show up in force.

The hunter slowly limped over to Morris' body, the stake looking indecently cruel buried in her chest. With some difficulty, he removed it and tossed it aside, half expecting her to spring awake again. She did not. Morris simply lay still with an odd, unnatural cast to her skin that didn't quite match living or dead. She was clearly something aside from human, the fangs remained and sickly veins ghosted through her face and neck. Throgmorton sincerely hoped he had vanquished an irredeemable vampire and not murdered a young woman. _Are all vampires driven to madness then? How much humanity do they have left over from mortal life?_ There were clear moments when Lacey was almost the young woman she had likely been, and she had fled in a mistaken effort to protect what was left of her family and friends. But in the end, Lacey had become more monster than girl, and been fully capable of killing someone who came too close. He didn't know how much of that was from the actual vampirism, and how much had been from whatever creature had been tormenting her with isolation and paranoia. He could think of a good place to start asking those questions, however.

 

 

***

 


	5. Chapter 5

 ***

 

 

The moon was visible as a mere crescent in the deep night sky, with stars blinking in and out of existence where a wispy string of clouds shifted and warped. Cold as usual, the rough weathered piers shone with crystalline frost and reflected the occasional gas light and lantern, making the banks fairly visible against the blackened Thames. The night shelter had sorted itself out again, and enough medical supplies had been left untouched that when Dr. Reid was able to occasionally visit the area he could assist those staying at the old warehouse. If anything, there were more residents of the shelter than during the epidemic, perhaps due to people beginning to lose their fear of contagion spreading through close quarters. Ichabod Throgmorton had stayed in the area since then, and continued to lend his support where he could, patrolling the alleyways at night, keeping trouble at bay, and helping sort out the organizational mess that always turned up when so many people lived together under one roof.

After finishing the night with resetting a few fractured digits, Reid had gone off to stare at the underside of the piers and the stark, geometric shadows they cast as if considering some memory. Curious and sociable as was his nature, Throgmorton followed quietly. A distant and somewhat melancholic look had settled on the doctor's face. The sort of look that always seemed to accompany loss and regret. It wasn't that difficult to piece together that Reid's life, just like the majority of London, had collected misfortune since the war. Between the chaos of the continent and the flu, anyone could have lost colleagues, friends, family... or pieces of oneself.

_But a doctor should know better than most that seclusion only compounds one's problems. You drove that point home for me, Dr. Reid, perhaps I can return the favor._ Throgmorton mused as he crossed the shifting ground. He simply needed to remind Reid that there were, in fact, people that he could call on as friends, regardless of how times might change or darken.

“Vampire Investigator Extraordinaire.”

“Pardon?” Reid responded without turning, not the least bit startled. Clearly there was no way to sneak up on the man.

“Occupation title: Vampire Investigator Extraordinaire, and warden of the East End. I feel the need to reflect my speciality. Strange events warrant investigation, after all, and I'm not the type to march in torches-and-pitchforks like the Priwen boys. I feel I am in a perfect position to cover the local oddities.” He squared his shoulders and took on an emphatic tone, “Shadows people see but refuse to speak of, things only whispered behind walls or in daylight, places even the gangs sidestep. There are dangerous creatures lurking in the dark, but it would be good to sort them out from the not-so-dangerous before setting fires. Keep all of London safe, as it were.”

“That does sound quite adventurous. Still set on conquering London's shadows by yourself?”

“I know when and where to ask for help if needed. In fact, I did recently come in contact with a most remarkable woman who seems interested in such a calling. I'm quite convinced she would be more than able to handle herself in any given situation.”

“Well that's almost like the beginning of an organization, then.” Reid honestly looked enthusiastic about the prospect. _Always trying to help everyone, aren't you? Someone should support you for a change, doctor._

“Indeed it does! Before that however, I had another purely academical question to ask of you. And do tell me if you ever tire of answering my questions, Dr. Reid, but considering your profession you have a great understanding of these things.”

“You come up with very... interesting questions. I'm sure I won't tire of them anytime soon. What was it you wanted to ask?”

“I need help with an investigation I'm following.”

“And how can I assist?”

“Well, I recently tracked down a vampire.” Reid turned to look directly at him and tilted his head in question. “I am still gathering information and... I'm not sure I'm ready to tell the full story yet, but suffice it to say I have a concern regarding mental illness in vampires.” One of Reid's eyebrows gained elevation.

“I am medically aware of many illnesses affecting the mind. Human minds, that is. I can try to answer your question.”

“To be perfectly honest I've encountered... two dangerous creatures now. Each seemed very unstable. The first quite ferocious and lacking any semblance of sentience, and the second... it was like her mind was breaking and madness just setting in. And I know that she had been previously a relatively normal individual. Would you say madness is a normal occurrence in vampiric kind?”

Reid sighed and briefly paused in contemplation before turning back to Throgmorton. “I would find it highly probable someone undergoing transformation into a such a creature would be prone to suffer instabilities of the mind. It is never wise to use the word 'always' in medicine, however.”

A worry nagged at his mind. Something subconscious told him not to bother with it, and to leave the question unasked. It could wait for a later day, and in any case, the worry would never come to pass. Because it was Dr. Reid, after all. Before he could stop himself, his voice decided to carry away on its own regardless, “You would never go mad, would you?”

Dead silence momentarily fell between the two. Reid was... startled. Apparently he had actually managed to surprise the doctor. That would be a first. But his expression soon shifted. Several emotions darted across his face, all too quick to see, but one stayed. Warmth. A strange emotion to see on a man who, in a different fashion, was so definitively cold. Reid let out a cough that might just have been a laugh.

“Not that I'm aware at least. Are you concerned I might?” He spoke softly, as if he were talking to a skittish horse.

“Truthfully, it seems quite impossible. But it would be a terrible thing to happen to a friend.”

“You'll have to tell me about your investigation sometime. It sounds like it was rather enlightening.”

“I will, although it really wasn't the investigation. I'm afraid I have you to blame for my current competence.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I wanted to thank you, Dr. Reid. I can't tell you how relieving it is to know that _I'm_ not insane. There was a time when I thought it was possible, and you were the only person who listened to my ramblings. Encouraged them, I suppose.”

“I must apologize for not being able to offer a more absolute form of assistance...”

“You've never lied to me, doctor. Albeit in an indirect way, you've taught me perhaps all I know about hunting vampires.” A smile crossed his face.

“I'm always glad to help a friend.”

“And I'm glad to hear it!” Throgmorton's smile spread into a full grin. “If that's the case, when is the next time you might have a couple hours to spare?”

“I'm not in any hurry tonight.”

“Well, I think I would like to discuss this latest case that I've been tracking down. You see, I found a vampire, but I don't think I found the right one.” He grew far more somber as he pictured the young woman. Crazed, but tormented. Desperate, and devoid of hope. He needed to know if there was anything he could have done, or if she was truly lost. He also needed to know what monster still loose in London was capable of putting a young woman through that kind of torture.

“I suppose I should know the full story then?”

“Her name was Lacey Morris...” Throgmorton began.

The two men stood to face the reflections of industry and winter in the Thames as the hunter recounted his tale, what could be called his first victory, but truly, his second defeat. There were many unseen things going on in the undercurrents of London. Just as a predator lurking in the depths of dark water, the rippling surface would cover an untold number of creatures lying in wait for prey. Morris had not altogether been a predator. Whatever had occurred, he needed someone with a more direct insight into the situation in order to continue this investigation. Luckily for him, he happened to know a vampire.

 ***

 

 

 

 

_It's not madness! It's botany!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, more of an epilogue, so doodle included as extra (so long as it uploads correctly). Mysterious vampire _is_ that particular nefarious one from the game, in case anyone is curious.  
>  Hopefully I gave a decent interpretation of Ichabod.  
> There was a contradiction that was nagging at me; He sees a real vampire, runs around pretending to be a hunter, and then is honestly surprised, and even accepting, of being eaten by one..  
> The only solution I could figure was that he was just kind of a mess. Lost and confused with life to the point of mental breakdown- basically resorting to a helpful caricature as a way to cope (in a “if I pretend to be brave and competent maybe I'll become so” way), and being dangerously reckless in doing so. He seems relieved to die in a way, because at least with death, he finally gains clarity.  
> Which is depressing. And he really likes helping people, so I gave him a happier ending where he can get past his problems and know when to ask for help himself. He needs to stop doing everything alone I think.  
> Also, I think he'd have no problem with Reid being a leech. I mean vampire. Damnit McCullum


End file.
